Take Me With You
by hushedgreylily
Summary: Part III in the Clawen AU trilogy started with Hot Blooded Creatures. Plenty of smut, a fair bit of fluff and a smidgeon of angst!
1. one

**Take Me With You**

**[insert appropriate apology here for how late this is, followed by your choice of excuses about a new job, a new man, new heartbreak, and family drama]**

**Here we go, guys, the third and final part of my Clawen 60s AU that grew exponentially into a trilogy of lengthy fic… this one's not going to be as long as A Secret I Can't Keep, but definitely a few chapters and therefore longer than Hot Blooded Creatures. As I promised you all, it's going to be full to the brim of sickening fluff, I'll be teasing you with a few odd and possibly unexpected spots of angst, and of course the smut that has been pretty characteristic of this fic – I didn't start with ANY plot intentions at all, smut was the original goal – this scenario seemed to turn itself into a story!**

**As previously stated more than once, these characters don't belong to me. Their situation in this fic, however, that's entirely my own creation.**

_One_

As he lets her through the door, into the little one bedroom flat he's been keeping afloat on a weekly basis, she can't help the little smile that makes its way onto her face, despite the shudder he'd been expecting. It's a homely kind of untidy, it's hardly big enough to breathe in, and it looks like it could use a coat of paint and a few cupboard doors fixing, worlds away from the big house on the Dearing estate.

Still, she smiles.

Owen's a little red as he shrugs his shoulders at her, almost apologetically, setting her little suitcase down on the floor beside the door as he closes it behind them. "It's not much, I know, but it's just-"

She smiles at him, taking his hand, and there's something in her eyes he can't quite decipher. Because it looks like excitement, awe, and that doesn't even make sense.

"It's very you." She grins, running her thumb across the back of his hand gently.

He raises an eyebrow. "What, a complete mess and in need of a lot of work?"

She laughs, and she leans into him, kissing his jaw lightly. "A little bit outside everything I've ever known, but safe, and welcoming, and… right for me."

He can't argue with that. He presses his lips to hers, letting his tongue snake entry into her mouth, and he pulls her flush against him, every inch of her body up against every inch of his. She feels that fire that has become, in the last weeks, so beautifully familiar, ignite inside her.

Pulling back, breathless, he leans his forehead against hers. "How about I show you the bedroom?" he breathes, and she lets him take her hand and lead her through.

As the sun sneaks through the window, between the two threadbare curtains that don't quite reach each other, Claire stirs slightly, finding her legs entangled with Owen's, her head resting on his shoulder, and a slight twinge in the muscles of her neck where she's curled around him slightly haphazardly. Despite the thin, cheap cotton that makes up the bedding, she doesn't think anything could feel softer, more welcoming, so caressing against every inch of her completely bare skin. As she drifts in that place between sleeping and waking, wishing she could join him back in that sleeping place for a moment, as his chest rises and falls with the deep breathing of almost-oblivion, she considers how unimportant thread count and feather pillows really are when you're in the arms of someone you love.

Her little chuckle at her own silly romanticised thoughts draw him up a little from the deep, and she feels his fingers started to trace mindless patterns on their resting place just below her hip. She tilts her eyes lazily up to him, and his are still closed, with his mouth slightly open. She takes that opportunity to lean up and press her lips against his, expecting him to respond. But she supposes maybe she'd tired him out more that she thought last night (and most of yesterday afternoon – they were christening the flat, at the end of the day), because all she hears is a slight grunt and his breathing seems to deepen again, his fingers stilling on her skin.

But they were drawing their usual tantalising patterns on her skin, and suddenly she's awake, and every completely bare inch of him is pressed against every bare inch of her; that fire resting low in her belly that she didn't even know existed until she met him is rising within her, and she needs to do something about that.

She presses a kiss to his jaw, then to his neck, and then to his collarbone. As she gets no response she slides down his body, kissing a trail down his chest, towards his belly button, and then beyond.

He's half hard already as she kisses his tip, and then as she takes him deep in her mouth, all in, she's sure she hears his breath hitch – he's suddenly very awake. As he hits the back of her throat she feels his hands tangle in her hair, and imagining the smile she would have managed if her mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied, she starts working her tongue, snaking it around him, before pulling right out and kissing the tip gently. She looks up from his now rock solid member and meets his eyes, if only for a moment, and his are so black she feels her heart racing slightly more before pressing gentle, tantalising kisses along his shaft.

"Fuck, Claire." She hears him hiss, and a small smile quirks one side of her mouth as she brings her head up slightly to take him all in again, considering how much everything's changed in so little time. In just months, everything's been flipped right around and she's finding herself waking up in the tiny, slightly endearingly scruffy one bedroom flat belonging to this man, with no idea where she's going to live after this week, no idea where she's going to find herself, other than right by this man's side. And she's decided to wake him up in a manner that quite honestly is still somewhat unspeakable.

But apparently very enjoyable, Owen indicates as he starts rocking his hips against her mouth, his hand tightening in her hair, the curses cascading somewhat uncontrollably out of his mouth. She brings one hand up and brushes, a fleeting touch, across his balls before mirroring the action of her lips, of her mouth, with her hand at the base of his shaft. She hears his head hit the pillow as he flings it back, completely out of control, and she can feel his orgasm building, he's pulsing in her mouth, and he feels harder, _hotter_, than moments before.

He makes a half hearted attempt to pull her up by the shoulders, muttering something about being close, and finishing inside her, but she makes eye contact with him one last time and gives him a tiny smirk before taking him as deep as he can reach in her mouth.

When she feels his thick spurt in her mouth, accompanied by at least four dozen curse words and a gentle softening between her lips, he tastes tart and salty but not altogether unwelcome. As he looks down at her, from almost looking paralysed with exhaustion on the threadbare mattress, his chest heaving, she pulls away from him gently with a small _pop_, and makes sure he's watching her as she swallows.

"You, Claire…" he manages, as she shifts up on the bed and folds herself around him, ignoring the embers burning between her thighs for the moment, nuzzling into his neck, "You are more than I ever deserved…"

She presses her lips against his skin, without the words in her in that moment for everything, all those feelings, bubbling up inside of her. He heaves a deep breath, lacing his fingers, gently this time, into her hair, and she feels every muscle in her body slowly relax.

Like she's exactly where she's supposed to be.

Between dozes, he must have gotten out of bed, because the next time she registers anything in reality, she's alone between the sheets and she can hear bustling in the kitchen. Smiling, possibly wider than she ever had when she was Miss Dearing in the Dearing estate, with everything anyone would ever expect her to want right in front of her, she slides out from under the covers, searching for something in the little bedroom to wrap around her naked form.

In the end, she settles for Owen's raggedy threadbare robe hanging on the door, and she chuckles a little to herself as she steps through into the kitchen, at where she is and what she's doing and somehow _who _she's become.

Because she's built her own kind of haphazardly perfect little life where she never would have expected.

In the kitchen, dressed only in his long underpants, Owen is working at the stove. Hearing the bedroom door creak behind her, he turns around, a wry half smile resting on his face.

"Morning, beautiful." He half whispers, and she feels something zip through her again – _this man_, shirtless and gazing at her like she's the only woman in the world – she's not sure it will ever let. "I had a couple eggs… I'm making omelettes…"  
He lazily does something with the frying pan, and she feels her heart swell, yet again. This is all so beautifully _domestic _she's not sure whether to keep grinning slightly maniacally or to stop breathing for a second. Because nothing's this _right_, nothing makes this much sense, nothing ever has done.

"What?" he suddenly looks worried. "Don't you like omelette?" Clearly all the emotions that she's feeling are reflecting slightly in a slightly nonsensical manner in her face. Because to hear that much confusion in the voice of the man who can read her better than anyone she's ever met, she must be somewhat illegible in that moment.

She laughs lightly, and steps towards him, brushing her fingertips down the side of his face and pressing her lips ever-so-lightly to the side of his jaw.

"I like omelette." She whispers, bringing her mouth slightly closer to his, but not quite reaching. "You're perfect."

With that, her lips graze his, and for a moment it seems the omelette will burn and fill the little flat kitchen with smoke, forgotten amidst their other activities. But, sighing deeply, he gently pushes her away from him, gathering her hands and pressing his lips gently to her forehead.

"I'm cooking, Claire. You…" he threads his fingers through her morning bedhead, "… are a terrible influence.." 

One side of her mouth crooks up as she presses her lips to his one last time and steps back.

"I love you." She breathes, like it's the most obvious thing, and the simplest thing in the world. The words flow from her with an ease she once hadn't even been able to imagine, and the smile he gives her in return says _I love you too _in a thousand different ways without actually saying anything.

**Again, my apologies for the lateness of this! But never fear, I have all the chapters written, they're just in final edit stages, and so will all be posted in (relatively) quick succession!**


	2. two

**Thanks for all the support so far, despite my lengthy absence! Onwards…**

_Two_

Over the omelettes, she notices that he keeps stealing glances at her. Once, it's a coincidence, twice, she might be imagining it, but three times, she sets her knife and fork down on her plate and gives him a wry smile.

"Have I got something on my face, Owen?" she half laughs, and his cheeks flush a slightly pinker shade.

"Just thinking… I could never quite believe it would come to this…"

She frowns slightly, like she's not quite sure what he's saying.

"You… me…" he smiles, "…breakfast in our own tiny little place… everything in the future ahead of us…"

She tilts her head slightly, the smile still on her lips. "That future where we have no idea what's going to happen?"

He laughs, and takes her hand. "The very same… The you bit was the most important bit of me being blown away by where I am… we'll find something, somewhere, we'll figure it out…"

Her smile widens, as she realises maybe she needs the reassurance more than she's letting herself think.

"It's you and me, now, just you and me…"

As she hands Owen the frying pan to towel dry, she frowns slightly.

"I've never actually cooked _proper _food." She sighs, half grimacing at her own antiquity, being one of the women of almost forgotten traditions, living in big houses with staff cooking for them and little to no everyday skills. "Mother had me take a class in _decorative baking_-" she says the words with such disdain, "-before realising I was never going to take to it, and I was much more suited down at the stables, with dressage and gymkhana lessons…"

He smiles mischievously. "So you're asking me for cooking lessons?"

She shrugs, looking slightly abashed, flushing slightly, the shame surrounding her sheltered, almost caged upbringing taunting her again. "Please." She breathes, and noticing the catch in her voice, the look in her eyes, Owen's smile softens.

"I can do that." He smiles. "I'm nothing special, I don't have a huge fancy repertoire or anything, it's just the basics, really… good, simple food…"

"Sounds perfect."

She looks so hopeful, so grateful and almost childlike in that moment he sets the dry frying pan down on the counter and wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

"I love you." He half grunts, the eloquent romantics half sticking in the throat of the sailor, the stable hand, the man that never dreamt himself worthy of a Dearing girl. "So damn much."

He feels her smile against his shoulder.

* * *

They take a walk along the river that afternoon, and Claire slips her hand into his with such ease for a fraction of a second he has another moment of pure disbelief.

"One of your people might see us… we're not far enough away from the Dearing estate to go unnoticed yet, we-"

She pulls him slightly closer to her, wrapping her arms around his and lacing his fingers with those of her other hand, but she raises an eyebrow.

"They're not my people anymore, Owen." She scoffs, "When I decided to pack it all up into one suitcase and run away into the sunset with you… they stopped being my people. You can guarantee Mother's already put me on whatever blacklist she can imagine up, I'm nothing but an embarrassment to the Dearing family, and the worst we'll get is a disapproving glance…" her frown drops into a smile and she looks up into his eyes, "…and anyway, I'm marrying you, one of these days. You'll have to get used to being seen with me."

That low, rumbling chuckle she loves so dearly. "One of these days… we need to figure out where we're going, what I'm going to do… you're right, I'll have to look outside your mother's social circles for stable work… we'll have to go far enough away that no one's heard of the Dearing scandal…"

She snorts with laughter, "I don't think it will be as far away as you think… Mother's living in the old world… things are changing faster than she'd like and there aren't as many people like her anymore… we're taking over, the new generation…"

He squeezes her hand lightly and pulls her slightly closer to him. "The new generation where one of these days no one is going to even blink at a girl from a _respectable family _and the dirty stable hand, fresh out of the Navy…"

Her giggles flutter away from them with the wind.

They find some sort of bizarre, almost temporary feeling balance of _normal,_ they slip into it with such ease it is almost like they've always been there. But time is ticking around them, and the hours turn into days and they can't keep playing house in the flat that they only have four more days worth of rent paid for, and not even a cent hard earned to their names, just the wad of dollar bills Karen had given her. A gift from back when she was getting misty eyed at the true nature of her own husband and the love story she had seen playing out between the youngest Dearing sister and the Grady boy back when they used to tear after each other in the gardens of the estate.

* * *

That third morning, after Owen's taught Claire how to cook a few things, Claire's written and posted a letter explaining her side of the story to Karen, and they've christened every surface that is possible to lay on, sit on or lean against in the flat, Claire spots something.

"You still want to work with horses?"

Owen looks up from the plates that he's scrubbing. "Huh?"

She points to a rectangle in the bottom left hand corner of a page near the back of the newspaper.

"There's a stud farm… a way away, over near Greenville… they urgently need a groom who will take on young racehorse training responsibilities… no experience required."

He leaves the plate in the sink and steps over to read over her shoulder. He can't quite help the smile that's teasing the edges of his lips.

"They want to see any potential candidates before the weekend… Claire, take a gamble with me one more time?"

For a moment, her heart thumps in her ears. She narrows her eyes, apprehension darting through her, and for a second she wonders if she'll ever know what's going to happen the next day again, with the same steady, boring repeatability she always knew in what's become a distant previous life.

She gives him a smile, trying to mask her uncertainty. If there's one thing this man deserves, after everything, it's her belief in him. "It's not like I have a whole lot of security if I don't gamble, is it?"

He gives her a dry chuckle. "I bunked on one of the ships in the Navy with a sailor from Greenville… he went back when I went back… if we could find him I'm sure Lowery would put us up for a few nights until we found a place, got a first week's pay…" he takes a deep breath, and she can't help smiling, because it's as if he still doubts she'd follow him to the end of the earth and back again. "…let's go to Greenville, Claire. It's far enough away from your mother's social circles for us to build our life again, and I could get this job… and even if I don't, they might know other stables or estates with stables around that might be looking for some labour… We need to get out of here, and just thinking about how we need to won't help us get there…"

"Iris was born in Greenville." She muses.

Owen frowns. "Huh?"

"Iris. The housekeeper on the Dearing Estate. She grew up in Greenville. We used to talk… she used to come and dress me and do my hair when I was younger, and then as I got older she'd always make sure she was dusting my room when I was in there…"

The look on Owen's face she's never quite seen before. For only a moment, it looks like blind sympathy. Like he's trying and failing to quite understand her childhood, and thanking God that his wasn't alike. She doesn't really like it, it only drives the wedge in further, that wedge constantly reminding her how worlds apart they really are on paper.

"She always said it was lovely in summer. We could go to Greenville."

* * *

As she folds the last of her clothing into the suitcase – that same old suitcase she'd dragged out of the wardrobe in the mansion on the Dearing estate – only six days and a whole lifetime ago – the mixture of feelings rising in her takes her breath away. With one inhale, one passing thought, she's terrified of flitting, yet again, into the complete unknown, with nothing but the man who she has come to know as the only constant in her life beside her. And in the next breath, with that thought taking hold, she looks around the tiny, cramped and untidy bedsit that hasn't even been her home for a week, she feels suddenly nostalgic, and like she's loathe to leave. Because despite only being six days, being nothing like the world she was used to, the pristine tidiness, its achievement hidden from the eyes of the residents, a lack of reality that she now sees, this is the first home she's ever chosen.

Admittedly, choosing this home has more to do with the man in the kitchen packing up their plates and bowls, and less to do with the décor, or the lack of basic facilities, but it's still the place she's felt the most at home, her whole life.

And she won't ever forget that.

Fastening the suitcase with a little sigh, she skirts one last glance around the bedroom.

Her life seems to suddenly consist of tiny suitcases, leaving places and never looking back, and last glances. And as Owen clatters around with their few kitchen utensils, she realises she wouldn't have it any other way.

**That's a wrap on chapter two! Was pretty much all sickening fluff, that one, but I did dare to touch on the underlying angst that is still very much in both their minds despite their home made happily-ever-after. That will rear its ugly head again, never fear! Would love to hear what you think of this chapter, constructive criticism welcome!**


	3. three

_Three_

As they drive down the track to the stud farm in Greenville, passing an almost derelict cottage, the warm, bright morning is almost a reflection of how Claire feels. They'd found their way to Greenville late afternoon the previous day, and after asking at the post office, Owen had turned up on the doorstep of his old Navy bunkmate with nothing but a smile and an enthusiastic greeting. Lowery had invited them into the house right away, apologising for the child's toys scattered on the floor, and brushing wooden toy building blocks aside as he led them into his kitchen.

Over coffee and the slightly stale back end of a cake, they gave him the very brief backbone of everything that had happened to them, and where they had found themselves now.

Lowery smiled as they came to the end, clapping Owen on the back of his shoulder.

"You went back and stole that girl, then, in the end, Grady…"

Claire had never thought she'd see the day, but Owen was _blushing_. She raised an eyebrow at him, a half smile on her lips.

Owen shrugged, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "You'd just kissed me on the docks, Claire, I was…"

Lowery had snorted, and taken a step towards Claire. "He wouldn't shut up about you, that whole fifteen months we were stationed together. He was going to find some way to be with that girl again, even if he had no idea how, she was going to be his girl... it got kinda boring, after a while, you were all he ever talked about…"

"Lowery!" Owen hissed, but Claire had found the smile on her lips growing, and she'd taken a step towards Owen, taking his hand in hers.

"Well, he did. I did." She smiled, squeezing his fingers, pressing her lips against his jawline, chastely. "he's the only thing I have left in the world… I'm definitely his girl."

For a moment, and Owen's incredulous this hasn't stopped happening between them yet, after all these months, the world stopped spinning around them. For a moment, they hadn't been in Lowery's kitchen, lost in the world, they'd been anywhere they could have imagined, as long as they were together.

Lowery's loud throat clearing and dry chuckle broke the silence. "Oh, you're good, man. Of course I'll put you up for a couple nights. Vivienne has taken Nicholas to stay with her parents this weekend, so it's not such a madhouse as it usually is around here… where might she have kept the spare sheets?"

He set about searching all available covers for another set of bedding.

So they'd had a quiet, comfortable night in Owen's Navy friend's small townhouse, and with first light and fruit and coffee, had headed out towards the hills, and the stud farm.

The sun had just risen higher in the sky as they'd covered ground, and as the air started to warm, the gooseflesh on Claire's arms had lessened.

As they pull towards a big metal gate propped open, and a sign engraved with '_Nublar Breeding'_, Claire, noticing his deep breath and momentary pause, wraps her fingers round his.

"You'll be great, Owen. But if you're not… we'll find something else. We stick together, right? That's all we need, and we'll survive."

The half smile he gives her as he walks through into the yard is enough.

Four young horses are stabled just to their left as they turn in, and Claire finds herself immediately walking towards them, talking softly, reaching her hand towards the palomino's cheek slowly and steadily. She places her hand gently on the horse's skin and he exhales, relaxed content.

She looks down at the name badge on the stable door. "Hello, Echo." She murmurs, stroking the animal's skin softly.

Owen's smile is a lot wider the next time she looks at him. "I'll leave you here with your new friends, whilst I go in and say my bit, alright?"

She smiles back at him, not taking her hand of the horse. "Good luck, Owen. You're not going to need it."

He chuckles. "When did you get so much faith in me?"

Her heart sinks for a moment. "I have always had that much faith in you, I've always believed in you… I just didn't… I didn't… I didn't believe in me like that, that I could make the change too…"

He puts a finger up to her lips. Echo whinnies quietly at the sudden movement. "Relax, Claire. I'm joking."

She presses her lips lightly against his finger. "Go on. Go start us this new life."

His smile is somewhat more apprehensive again as he walks across the yard.

Turning back to Echo, Claire runs her hand up her cheek gently. "You're beautiful, girl." She breathes, "You're not very old. Next year's mares, are you, ladies?"

She looks along the stable row. All four fillies are beautiful, all different coat colours but all with the same almost star shaped marking between their eyes. She steps away from Echo and onto the chestnut, 'Charlie' from her name tag. The blue roan paws at the floor restlessly from the other end of the row, and Claire laughs.

"Impatient. It's not your turn yet." She laughs as she scratches Charlie's flank, and casts her eyes on the quiet black, the smallest of the four, Delta, who looks like she's half asleep. She only gives Delta a light pat as she walks towards Blue, who whinnies and reaches her head over the stable door to nuzzle against Claire. "You are all fine stock, the Dearing estates would be jealous." She laughs drily to herself, running her fingers through Blue's mane, leaning against the young mare. "I hope he gets this job, Blue. I don't know where we'll be if he doesn't."

Blue whinnies but doesn't offer her any encouragement.

* * *

After some indiscriminate amount of time – Claire can only quantify it in walking between the fillies, talking absent-mindedly to each one and slowly allowing the warm, hearty scent of clean, fresh stables remind her of home, or the part of the Dearing estate she found the most welcoming – she hears footsteps she recognises behind her as she's talking to Delta, and then she feels a palm on her shoulder.

She reaches up and puts her hand over his before turning, holding her breath, waiting to read the expression on his face, and from that, their entire future.

She's greeted with a grin almost as wide as the one shown to her when she set her suitcase down in the stable cabin and told him she'd chosen him and of course she'd marry him, and her face mirrors his in an instant.

"They'd like me to start tomorrow." He half laughs, cupping her cheek with his hand, "…and better than that, Claire, I've got us a house! You remember that place, that cottage we walked past on the way in?"

She narrows her eyes, "You mean the ruins of a cottage, where the roof definitely can't be trusted to keep you dry, and is probably inhabited by a coven of rats?"

It doesn't wipe the smile off his face, even for an instant. "The very same. They say it used to belong to an old groundsman, and his family, but he retired and moved to Tennessee six years ago, and no one's lived in it since. Apparently the roof holds, and the small amount of furniture in there is still holding together, they used it to lodge some temporary workers just months ago… We can take it for free, as long as when we're finished it looks nicer on the road into Nublar Breeding…" he takes a deep breath, and brings his other hand up to her other cheek, forcing their eyes to lock, suddenly barely an inch away from her.

"I promised you I'd build us a home, Claire." He presses his lips against hers, for a fraction of a second, "…and maybe this is not quite the cabin I was going to build you, but maybe this is the next best thing… this place… this place will be _ours._"

She pulls him towards her then, her heart thumping in her chest, because suddenly all those great unknowns are turning into something. And maybe those impossible dreams might be able to manifest somehow into reality.

* * *

When they step through the slightly crooked front door into the cottage, Claire surprises even herself. What looks, to a pair of eyes that have never seen anything less than perfect, like something close to ruins, with no remnants of any form of normality she's ever known, is suddenly transformed behind her eyes. Like she's finally put on a pair of glasses that allow her to see the world in more clarity than she's ever experienced, she can see remnants of the structure, the bare bones of the open plan ground floor of the cottage. What was once a living area, with a long table pushed up against the wall opposite the little kitchen, she can suddenly envisage vibrant and thrumming with life again, imagining moving the table slightly away from the wall, and dusting down the big window above the stove, letting the sunlight soak through and cast light upon the room.

And suddenly she can see that space, _their _space, in a thousand different iterations, with brightly coloured curtains hanging at the window, with Owen cooking omelettes at the stove, with, _heaven help her_, children scurrying around at their feet.

She looks up at Owen, a sudden lump forming in her throat, larger and thicker and harder to swallow than anything she can remember.

"It's a home." She whispers. But there's a lump in her throat that won't cease, because the image in her mind is so _alien_, a kind of backwards fairy tale without riches, but with mess and weariness and family and _love_. The opposite of anything she'd ever known, before this man, the opposite of what she was raised to expect.

This man, this perfect man, notices the tears stinging in her eyes. "What you thinking?" he whispers, stepping towards her, and she suddenly can't meet his eyes. Suddenly her feet on the grubby floor are enticing, something she can't tear her eyes from.

"Claire?" There's a slight wobble to his voice, because suddenly there's an icy fear rushing through his veins, that she's finally realised that this is all his dream, and she could have so much better, she should never have left her structured, stable life, her cold, hard, loveless reality, on a whimsical moment with the stable hand…

"When are you going to realise I don't fit?" she whispers, her tears thick in her voice, echoing his own sentiment. "…that you could have picked _anyone_, someone who knows how to live this life, and turn some place like this into a home… and marry you and have your beautiful babies… someone that knows how to love children because they were loved themselves and I-" she hiccups on the last words, and his heart _hurts_ at how broken that cold, hard, loveless reality has made her. "…when are you going to figure out that I love you, I love you so much, Owen, and I'd run away with you a thousand times again, but you shouldn't have done all this, for me. You shouldn't have risked everything for me, you shouldn't have to struggle through how incapable I am of everything in the real world… I don't know where I am, or what I'm doing, I'm terrified… you could have found someone so much better for you…"

She trails off into deep, shuddery breaths, and for a moment there's silence.

And then Owen laughs. Claire looks up immediately, frowning at him. "Don't laugh, it's not funny! You threw away your whole life for me, and I'm useless and terrified and…"  
He steps towards her, taking her hands. "I'm sorry. I won't laugh." He presses his lips gently against hers, but she doesn't respond, her eyes wide and dark and frightened. "But I was stood there thinking that one day you're finally going to realise this was all a huge mistake and you should have stayed with your riches, and your staff and your society, and I'm dreading the moment you figure out you made a mistake with me, I'm not worth any of it… and you're stood there, crying, telling me you think I made a mistake with you? Because I will never think that, Claire, as long as I live, I don't want someone who knows what they're doing, I'm terrified too, and I don't want beautiful babies with anyone else-" she can't contain a tiny laugh, "-and I'd take you running away a thousand times again, I-"

Her lips crush against his, suddenly, with all the hunger he remembers from their secret trysts in the Dearing estate stable cabin. She pulls his body to hers, matching every inch of him with every inch of her, and her teeth catch on his bottom lip as she pulls away, leaning her forehead against his, panting.

"Make me forget I'm terrified? If just for tonight?" she pants against him, looking up into blown pupils, feeling his growing arousal against her. "We'll be each other's' mistakes?"

His mouth returns to hers, almost growling against her. Her tongue slides effortlessly between his lips, her hands slide down his chest.

"Is there even a bed in this place?" he hisses against her mouth, as her fingers fiddle with the buttons of his pants, and he feels her smile against his mouth.

"We'll find out." She whispers, loosening his pants and sliding her hand into his underwear, grinning even wider as his breath hitches against her and his hands, that have made their way to her breasts, dig into her flesh.

He bites her lip. "I'll take you on this floor if you don't slow down, Claire… I won't get up the stairs and find a bed if you-"

Her long fingers suddenly wrap all around him and start pumping, his pants falling past his hips.

"So take me here." She breathes, using her other hand to loosen her own pants. "Take me anywhere. I am nothing else in this world other than yours, Owen. And if you don't think I'm a mistake…"

He tears roughly at the fastenings of her brassiere, pulling one of her breasts out into the open, thumbing her nipple, his lips travelling down her throat, murmuring against her skin.

"You're a mistake I'd make all over again, you always will be."

"So take me." She gasps as his mouth finds her nipple. "God, I love you…"

As they clamber onto the floor, trying not to tear their hands and mouths from each other, it's clumsy and haphazard, but as he pulls her pants off of one leg and runs his fingers along her folds in her underwear, bucking his own hips as she works him, slowly and tantalisingly, occasionally brushing her thumb over the tip of his cock, they fit together with the same ease that brought them crashing together that first time in the stable cabin.

He brings his mouth back up to meet hers as she brings him close to where she wants him – to where she needs him – and as he slides within her, without much warning, a gasping scream escapes her lips.

All she can remember, all she can think, as he thrusts into her and she feels her own climax building is that they're like two pieces of two completely different puzzles that for some unknown reason, just fit together.

As she comes around him, she can't help sobbing into his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his release inside her.

They're going to have bruises, rubbing against the hardwood floor, they're going to have a mess to clean up, and they've still got to work out what needs to be done to the cottage immediately to be able to live in it, but in that moment he just wraps his arms tightly around her, buries his head in her hair, on the floor of their new home.

And maybe the fear lifts slightly, for both of them.

**Oooh, would you look at that, it turned into smangst at the end there! Wasn't exactly planned for, the story ran away with me! **

**Please leave a review, however short.**


	4. four

**I can make nothing but a huge apology that it has been so long until this chapter, for my readers. My family suffered two huge losses since I last wrote, and we have been struggling to stay afloat both together and individually ever since - in my own little world, fanfiction has been the last thing on my mind for some time. But as I started to find my own personal new normal, and started creeping back into fic, amidst the turmoil of teaching during a pandemic, it has been a release, a sanctuary, and I knew as soon as I got back to writing, I would finish this fic. Because I have loved every minute of working with Claire and Owen in this AU. I hope you've enjoyed reading it half as much as I have enjoyed writing it.**

**This chapter goes out to everyone that's still there, still ready to read this. Life happened (both to myself privately and then to the whole world) and so this must have felt like it was never going to turn up. I do apologise.**

_Four_

When Claire wakes, with the bright sunlight crossing her face through the thin slit in the curtains, she takes one deep breath before everything starts to ache. Despite the dull burning in her muscles, she can't help the smile that sneaks across her face. She can feel every movement - every thrust, every grasp, every shudder - of last night embedded in every inch of her skin. As she stretches and her neck clicks slightly she almost laughs at herself. There's a reason it's not advised to make love on a cold dry floor.

She's alone in the bed, and suddenly she realises with nothing on, and no one to hold her, she's cold. As she draws the coverlet up over her shoulders a slip of paper falls onto her face. She eases herself up onto an elbow to read what's written.

_Claire,_

_ You looked so peaceful sleeping (after last night!) I didn't want to wake you._

_ Don't ever forget how much I love you, and how you're the only one I want to be here with,_

_ Owen._

She feels her heart swell slightly at his words. Her fears, that had overflowed and come spilling out of her yesterday, are still present, they're just somehow more restrained. As she eases herself out of the low laying but sturdy bed (and they got actual physical evidence last night that the bed could hold up with some vigorous disruption, after their initial first crash on the cold hard floor), she stretches her arms, tucking a sheet around her bare body, and can't help the smile on her face.

It's like this is the first day of the rest of her life.

* * *

After finding her suitcase and some sensible, boringly practical clothes, she decides to take the remainder of Karen's money – a large portion of it went on the train to Greenville – and wander into town to buy some supplies. All the basics are there in the cottage, sheets, towels, kitchen utensils and a slightly rusty box of tools, but she doesn't suppose she'll find even a morsel to eat in the cupboards.

She locks the front door with a long handled, copper coloured key, smiling to herself. She tucks an old bag over her shoulder she used to use to carry her lipstick in when out riding in a whole different life – one that it seems the further she gets from it, it becomes more alien – and starts walking into the sun.

The main town centre isn't far to walk, and the grocers next to the Post Office has most of the essentials. She picks up a loaf of bread from the bakers and some chicken from the butchers, feeling quite unlike herself and quite proud of herself at the same time as she slips the small few coins of change back into her bag. That's the thought she's still musing, that everything costs a lot more than she ever had the capacity to realise, in her sheltered, artificial existence, when she passes a small shoe shop with a sign tacked to the window.

_Shop assistant wanted. Monday - Friday, hours negotiable. All applicants considered._

Somewhere between frowning and chuckling to herself, she steps through the double doors. She never thought she'd be one of the women that worked in a shop, measuring the clientele, abiding by their every request, smiling regardless - but she supposes this is how people of that normal life she's only just found herself a part of find money every week for groceries, and anyway she's not sitting in an empty house all day whilst Owen's at the stud farm. And this way maybe she'll start to find herself a new, entirely different kind of home in Greenville.

She walks up the desk, holding her head high as she was always taught in her classes, gritting her teeth and half-praying that when she speaks she'll sound a thousand times more confident than she feels. The older lady at the desk looks up slightly absent-mindedly, with a gentle smile on her face. Claire thinks she looks friendly, and with a character not unlike Iris the housekeeper, and for a moment she muses that maybe Greenville is home to purely friendly people.

She almost laughs at herself.

"Can I help, Ma'am?" the shop worker asks, and that tells Claire she's holding her head, and herself, high enough, with enough confidence to seem like a Ma'am who might want to buy some shoes, not a girl on the edges of desperate.

Claire tries to give the woman her widest smile. She supposes it would be best to speak in the language of Greenville, with its friendly smiles and welcoming voices.

"I was wondering if you were still looking for a shop assistant, actually."

* * *

As Owen lets the rough wooden cottage door swing closed behind him, and roughly kicks his muck boots off onto the stone floor, Claire leans back to put her head around the kitchen doorway, meet his eyes.

"I'm cooking." she announces, almost laughing at herself. "I bought beef from the butchers and groceries and I'm making stew."

With a smile so wide she thinks it might split his face in two, he half-bounds over to her, standing against her back, nuzzling into her neck.

"And I got a job."

Owen appears to choke on nothing at all. She leans her head back against his shoulder, twisting her head to kiss his neck.

"I work in a shop now. A shoe shop, actually."

For a moment he looks like he can't quite form the words, before pressing his lips to the top of her head, gently, full of promise.

A sudden swell of confidence, of surety, rises in her.

"I realised..." she half whispers, stirring the stew mindlessly, "I realised that it might seem that this isn't me, not even slightly - but I have a choice." she swallows, and finds his hand resting gently and promisingly on her hip. "I can be the old me, or the new me."

It feels like it should lead into something else, but she seems to be leaving him to fill the silence.

He raises an eyebrow. "And the new you works in a shoe shop?"

She gives the stew one more stir before turning to place her hands on his shoulders, the smile on her face one of the most real he'd ever seen.

"The new me lives here, with just _you_, and the new me works, like everyone else. And I'm going to come home every day, and meet you in our little house, and normal's going to be beautiful. Normal's going to be everything."

He starts some sort of response, but she cuts him off. "It's all I want, Owen, perhaps all I've ever wanted. To come home to you, however simple home is, however different to everything I've ever known. Because you're there. You're my home."

"God, I love you." he whispers against the side of her hair as he wraps his arms around her, heart thumping, tears in the corner of his eyes, lump in his throat.

Home.

_**FINIS**_


End file.
